But I Digress ...

They say, "Winning isn't everything," and boy, is that true. This Sunday, a win would absolutely suck cauliflower. Allow me to explain. The greatest player since the last Greatest Player. There's a running back at USC named Reggie Bush. He just won the Heisman Trophy as the nation's best collegiate player ... as a junior . Even if you're not a football fan, you have probably heard the names Jim Brown, Gale Sayers and Earl Campbell. Well, Reggie Bush is supposed to be better than at least one of them. Based on potential, Bush could be one of the best running backs of all time. Meanwhile, there's a football team in Houston that has been the worst NFL team this season. The worst team in football one year gets to choose the first player in the following year's draft. The Texans are 2-13 with one week to go, and possess the the worst won-loss record in the league. If the season ended today, the Texans would get the first pick, and could sure use Bush. Bu

On BlogExplosion , there is a very poor (but usually-functional) "chat room" device called the Shout Box. When I first got involved with the Gang O' Bloggers in the Shout Box, the very first person to welcome me with open arms (and the very first person to tell me how sexy my photo made me look) was Angie. So I owe her, big time. Angie's got kids, and a blog . That's usually a deadly combination. But don't be frightened. Angie also has a sense of humor, and frequently writes about things other than her kids. How many "mommy blogs" would also point out how a Spiderman game joystick actually looks like Spiderman's ... oh, shall we say, Levitra-enhanced body part? This is a mommy blog for those of us who hate mommy blogs. Angie's blog, "Ficken Chingers", is this week's blog renter. I strongly encourage you to click here and pay her a visit ... right after you finish reading my pieces of cr-- er, my pearls of wisdom .

As Kyle Broflovski of South Park sang, "It's hard to be a Jew at Christmas." But it's not impossible. The Wife, being from a family of the American religious majority, dragged my happy ass down to spend the day with her clan, to celebrate the birth of Our Lord and Savior by opening too many presents, eating too much meat, and drinking too much spiked eggnog. Since the Jewish calendar doesn't really have a holiday designed around presents and eggnog, Christmas Day seems as good a time as any for me to get with the program. (By sheer coincidence, this year Hanukkah -- or Chanukah or Hannukah or Chanuko or Chaka Khan, or however you spell it -- began at sundown on December 25th. But despite the "eight days for eight presents" theme that many American Jewish families have bestowed upon Hanukkah, our "Festival of Lights" is actually a fairly minor holiday, as Jewish holidays go. The gift-giving is mostly an attempt to keep the Jewish kids from feel

It's official. The "Dumbing Down Of America" has reached a new nadir (or, if something negative becomes even more effective, does it reach a zenith?). "Deal or No Deal" premiered last night. Imagine a game show where the contestant has no need to even be conscious during the game play. That's "Deal or No Deal". It's the American version of a game created in the land of Heineken, legal hashish and storefront-window prostitutes, the combination of which would explain the brain-dead popularity of the concept. If you ever thought "Wheel of Fortune" was too intellectually challenging, "Deal or No Deal" is the game for you. I watched the premiere on a television set, with the sound off. From across the room. While I was sitting in a local restaurant, where the Wife and I were having dinner with another couple. And I still knew everything that was going on. In case you haven't watched NBC in the past few weeks (meaning you&#

A big chunk of my traffic comes from BlogExplosion , which is (as far as I know) the biggest traffic-generating site for blogs on the 'Net. Traffic schemes are their game. You name it, they got it. Credits for surfing, "Battle of the Blogs" (two blogs ante up and duel over the pot, winner takes three-fourths), "Scratch Cards" (imagine a scratch-off lottery card that NEVER FREAKIN' PAYS OFF), and even occasional random credits just for being a nice person. (Or so I like to tell myself.) Something that's becoming quite popular is the "Rent My Blog" program, in which one blog trades credits for a prominent link on another blog. And, being the independent non-conformist that I am, I jumped right on the ol' bandwagon. Last week, I rented my blog out for the first time, for the princely sum of 15 credits. I had six offers. I took the one that signed up first. Out of the 1,473 visits I had last week from 662 unique visitors, my renter got 44 click

(Disclaimer: This entry contains lots of twelve-dollar words. If big words make you nervous, here's a website you'll find more to your liking.) When I was a tender tyke, I had a talent for being a (nearly) champion speller. One particularly fond memory was of winning a spelling bee after I had already been buzzed out (the pronouncer had mispronounced the word "ingenuous", saying "ingenious", which I spelled correctly. I was reinstated to the bee in time for the final round, which I won. Nyaah ). Just because I was such an annoying child, I mastered the oral spelling of the word "antidisestablishmentarianism" in four seconds flat (a skill which I still have to this day and which, I assure you, doesn't even appeal to anyone as a drunken party trick). I didn't know what antidisestablishmentarianism meant, nor did I care. It was, as far as my tiny, immature brain could conceive, the longest word in the English language, and spelling it becam

Don't get annoyed with me because I haven't posted another blog entry in the past few days. I value your intelligence, dear Reader, far too much to slap some piece of tripe together just to make it look like I post every couple of days. You deserve all the genius I can muster (which ain't much), and by God that's what you're gonna get, so I'm fighting the urge to blog about the finale of The Apprentice in favor of something really, really special. Speaking of really, really special, I want to direct you to one of the blogs on my Blogroll to the right. " Scheiss Weekly " is written by a very prolific, very witty schoolteacher, who has a lot to say about the current state of education (as well as the rest of the world). It never ceases to amaze me how she can write so many entries so quickly, and yet so eloquently, about so many various topics. Her blog is one of my favorites, and I encourage you to pay her a visit. Please feel free to tell her Gar

Vegan. The very word sounds like something out of "Star Trek". ("Captain, the Vegans are locking phasers." "Sulu, get us out of here!") Vegans and vegetarians, as you probably know, are very different things. A vegetarian won't eat meat. A vegan won't eat meat, honey, eggs or Jell-O; won't drink milk; won't wear leather shoes, wool sweaters or silk underwear; and generally doesn't smile very much. As a proud beef-chewing, leather-wearing, Jell-O-swilling carnivore, I have a bit of trouble identifying with the philosophies of either. As a wise human once said, "If God hadn't intended man to eat other animals, how come he made them out of meat?" Many vegetarians and vegans believe that animals have just as much right to life as humans do. Well, that philosophy is fine and dandy, except it ignores the fact that animals have been eating other animals for millions of years. Antelopes have been brought down by lions, bears ha

There are certain things I won't do with this blog. It's here as an overflow vent for my brain, not as a money-making mechanism. I won't put Google ads on here, and I won't sell space. At the same time, I have a raging ego, and want as many people reading this nonsense as possible. Yes, I'm a Traffic Ho, and I'm not ashamed to say it. So, while I haven't sold out ... I have leased myself. Over to the right, you'll see our first tenant in the BlogExplosion "Rent My Blog" sweepstakes: "Haunted House Dressing" , by writer Jeremy Shipp. I think you'll agree with me that, if nothing else, this is the most unique blog design you're going to find. (I'm still trying to wrap my brain around some of the things he has written ...) Putting my blog up for rent was an interesting experience. Within three hours of posting its rental availability, I had six offers from six outstanding blogs. Jeremy got the spot because he bid first --

I have finally shaken free of the shackles of the standard Blogger templates (none of which are particularly exciting, and my least-disfavored of which, the "Parchment" motif, has been used by everyone and their dog ). Well, no more. This is my new look. Dark and mysterious, like the inner recesses of my brain (and the back corners of my closets). Your opinions are eagerly solicited, and will be carefully considered, then disregarded as unpatriotic.

In a comment to my last entry, someone (in an otherwise complimentary note) mentioned the "anti-Christian" tone of my posts. It's true that much of the humor (if you located any) in my last two entries centered around symbols of Christianity. But let me be entirely clear about this. I am not "anti-Christian" at all. Christianity is actually a darned nice religion, as religions go. Christianity -- REAL Christianity -- preaches love and tolerance and happiness, and I have no problem at all with that. So, I'm not in any way anti-Christian. But I am "anti-pompous hypocrites" and I am "anti-thought police" and I am "anti-Bible-thumping omnicrats". And, if you're a true Christian, you must agree with me that the so-called "Religious Right" (which, in my opinion, is neither) isn't making your faith look very good right now. Accordingly, they should be made fun of ... while we still have the freedom to make fun of

The Christmas shopping season started early this year. It starts early every year. I think in 2005, you could see Xmas decorations in some stores on the day after Valentine's Day. In a forest of iPods and Xboxes and silicon bakeware "for only three easy payments of $39.95", we are constantly ambushed with overhyped, overpriced, over-technologized (somebody call Webster's, I think I just invented a new word) items that nobody really needs. This is the time of year when, regardless of our religious denomination, we should hark back to simpler times. I was musing upon this as I was wandering lost among the gift-baskets-in-bulk at the local Big-Box Warehouse Club, each basket of which could be mine for three easy payments of $39.95. It occurred to me that, back at the first Christmas, they didn't have Big-Box Warehouse Clubs or Xboxes or ginsu knives. When the Messiah of Christian mythology (remember, I'm Jewish) was born, the Wise Men didn't try to give him a

(Since my last post on serious topics was such a resounding flop, we now return you to our regularly-scheduled goofiness ...) FACT: Most depictions of Jesus of Nazareth (in the United States, anyway) portray the kind, beatific face of a white guy with long brown hair and brown or blue eyes. FACT: According to historical documents, Jesus was born in Bethlehem and grew up in Nazareth, two towns in what is now Israel. FACT: Israel is in the Middle East. FACT: Middle Eastern men, for the most part, don't look like white guys. FACT: Jesus, according to historical documents, was born to Jewish parents. FACT: Middle Eastern Jewish men, for the most part, look even less like white guys. They tend to have big Jewish eyes and big Jewish noses. (And in case anyone thinks I'm making racist generalizations, be aware that I'm Jewish. And I have big Jewish eyes and a big Jewish nose. So get offa my back.) It was over a big plate of nachos that the Wife and I were discussing how the Ame

I'll warn you up front: This is a much more introspective, philosophical blog entry than the fluff I typically write. (Yes, I too have a deep side. You just have to spelunk for it.) People meditate in many different ways. A few of the more disciplined of us can do it quietly, sitting in some uncomfortable yoga position and muttering "Om ...". Others of us do it at the gym, iPods fastened to the waist and earphones wedged firmly in place, rocking out to the music of the day. My own meditation method has always involved listening to "spoken-word" recordings and movies. When I'm working, I frequently have a verbal soundtrack or the commentary track of a DVD playing in my headphones. I don't listen too closely to the words that are used. I simply find the sound of a well-modulated speaking voice quite soothing. (I find "My Dinner With Andre" to be an outstanding film if you don't think too hard about the metaphysical implications of what Wally

On the third Thursday of each November, the Wife and I make a pilgrimage to the local spirits mega-store for a time-honored ritual. For it is on this day that the new Beaujolais Nouveau is released to a thirsty public. From IntoWine.com : At one minute past midnight on the third Thursday of each November, from little villages and towns like Romanèche-Thorins, over a million cases of Beaujolais Nouveau begin their journey through a sleeping France to Paris for immediate shipment to all parts of the world. Banners proclaim the good news: Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé! "The New Beaujolais has arrived!" One of the most frivolous and animated rituals in the wine world has begun. Less than a month ago, these Beaujolais grapes were on the vine in the Bordeaux region of France. And now, a small portion of their fermented juice is parked inside a case of wine bottles in my dining room. Beaujolais Nouveau is definitely not a wine to be snobbish about. It's meant to be chilled (

Marguerite Perrin is America's newest celebrity, and as any good celebrity does, she now has her own bobblehead doll. But I'll get to that. I should clarify. Her friends and family know her as "Marguerite Perrin". The rest of us know her as that crazed, wild-eyed, rotund, toothless, screaming "God warrior" from the past couple of weeks of FOX's "Trading Spouses". (You know, the raving lunatic on the plugs FOX ran for about a month before the show aired? If you watched the World Series, you saw it a half-dozen times per night ...) This blog entry isn't about the fine example of Christianity at work known as Marguerite (although, in a nutshell: This "devout Christian" mom - though you couldn't tell it from her judgmentalism and temper - was paired up with a pagan family, and was not only condemning everyone and everything she saw in that house to Hell, but when she got home, launched into the famous tirade about everything in he

Okay, I knew my sense of humor wasn't for everybody. But this is getting ridiculous. I have entered BlogExplosion's "Battle Of The Blogs" seven times. That means putting up 70 hard-earned credits in the spirit of "friendly competition". My record in those competitions is a not-so-friendly 0-and-7. (Well, you can't fault me for consistency.) The irony is, I thought the recent "Charlie Brown on steroids" mock screenplay was one of the most inspired things I had come up with recently. You may see that as tragic. I see that as a glimmer of hope for the imminent return of my creativity. I have been surveying a lot of blogs on BE lately. Most of the ones that tend to win the "Battles Of The Blogs" tend to fall into one of the following categories: o "I have kids and they're a handful, but I love them anyway" o "I saw the CUUUUTEST dog this afternoon" o "The Fleemistat XQ428R has 12 GHz of power and is the raddes

EXT. A BASEBALL FIELD It's springtime, and the Peanuts gang is getting ready to fling the horsehide around. With a peppy Vince Guaraldi tune playing in the background, LINUS, LUCY, SCHROEDER, PIG-PEN and SNOOPY are taking turns at batting practice. With SCHROEDER in full CATCHER'S GEAR behind the plate, and PIG-PEN on the pitcher's mound (which is obscured by a cloud of dust), LUCY swings the BAT and hits the HORSEHIDE on a liner to shortstop, where SNOOPY catches the ball in his mouth. LINUS, in the on-deck circle, carefully folds up his SECURITY BLANKET and approaches the plate. PIG-PEN Hey, has anybody seen the round-headed kid today? LUCY When I saw him yesterday, he was even moodier than he was the day before. He's getting Charlie Brownier every day! SALLY walks by. SALLY (to LINUS) How is my sweet babboo today? LINUS I'm not your sweet babboo! Where is your brother? SALLY He'll be here soon. He said he had to take a B-12 shot, whatever that is. SCHROEDER D

Blogging is rough when you have nothing going on. Oh, I could blog about Scooter Libby, or Bush's plummeting approval ratings, or how the most talented player in the NFL has pretty much wrecked his career with his big mouth, or what a lying sack of steroids Rafael Palmeiro is ... but EVERYBODY is blogging about those things. And since "Lost" is in reruns, and the Mad Angelenos are in Europe, and my few measly GOOD ideas are going to my paying gig (sorry, blog-fans), I find myself sitting in front of my computer, picking crumbs out of my belly button and trying to find something warped and humorous to say. (And how I got crumbs in my belly button, when I've been fully-dressed and without snack food all day, I dunno.) But, since my lady is suffering from the Creeping Crud, humor is not foremost on my mind. (Shame, too, because I've conjured up some great non-sequiturs but have come up with no context in which to place them.) All I'm doing is realizing that

"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come." - "Terrence Mann", "Field of Dreams" (1989) "It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops." - A. Bartlett Giamatti, 1988 "The

I am very unhappy with George Takei. Takei, also known as Mr. Sulu from the original Star Trek TV series, announced on Thursday that he's gay. He has come out of the transporter room most flambuoyantly, citing the influence of the character he portrays in the play Equus as having inspired him to go public. In so doing, Takei has completely stolen the thunder from Sheryl Swoopes' announcement on Wednesday that she's gay. Doesn't seem particularly sporting of George to step on Sheryl's coattails, particularly since six-foot-tall Sheryl can beat the snot out of five-foot-eight George. (But she wouldn't, because he's 68 years old and, you know ... gay.) I was particularly taken aback by Ms. Swoopes' announcement. Swoopes, a WNBA star, is a lesbian? I am shocked -- shocked! -- to hear that there are lesbians in women's sports! Particularly since, 20-some years ago, I was a radio play-by-play man in the women's athletic department of a major un

Congratulations to the Chicago White Sox. If the Houston Astros can't get a base hit off of a tiring Sox pitcher Freddy Garcia, when Astros pitcher Brandon Backe turned in the best pitching performance of his life, then the 'Stros don't deserve to win. But hey, we got farther than the Dodgers, Angels and Red Sox did ... so, now that I've alienated all of my readers, I'm gonna go drown my embarrassment.

The Chicago White Sox have won 10 of their last 11 baseball games, all in the playoffs. They have come from behind to beat the Houston Astros in their last two games, and now lead the World Series 3 games to none. In the process, they have beaten our three best pitchers, who are arguably the three best pitchers in the National League. Now the Astros' World Series hopes are in the hands of ... Brandon Backe? Here's hoping we can at least keep from embarrassing ourselves tonight. Win one -- just ONE, for cryin' out loud ...

Our local radio station just announced that the retractable roof at Minute Maid Park will be open for tonight's Game 3 of the World Series. The retractable roof, last time I checked, is part of the Houston Astros' home field. That's where they'll be playing Game 3 tonight. The Astros wanted the roof closed. That would have been their home-field advantage, which they are supposed to enjoy for Games 3, 4 and (if necessary) 5 of the Series. Major League Baseball, however, doesn't want to pass up their aerial shots of the diamond as provided from the Met Life blimp or the Coca-Cola blimp or the "Family Guy Only On FOX" blimp. So, good-bye home field advantage. Hello, crass commercialism conspiring to once again send a tiny but significant streak of luck the way of the Chicago White Sox. For those of you who aren't baseball fans, you may be asking, "What difference does it make?" Well, when the roof is closed and the seats are full, Minute M

Last night, the Wife and I were at the local big-box warehouse club. The name of it is unimportant, but every time I shop there, the five billionaire Walton kids get to fight over another buck of my money. There was a man in there, dressed much nicer than the typical warehouse club employee. Shirt, tie, nice slacks. He was apparently selling video karaoke systems. I know this because he had a microphone in his hand, and was singing. And absolutely nobody was paying any attention to him. Had he been playing the autoharp and singing "Sureflow, Sureflow" at a medical supplies convention (there's a "Mighty Wind" reference for one or two of you), it wouldn't have been any less pathetic. Lord, do I hope that guy was on salary ...

Boy, do I hate to drag out that cliché, especially after ranting the other day about its overuse ... oh, but deal with it. The Astros are in trouble. BIG trouble. All season long, our closer Brad Lidge has been one of the most feared pitchers in baseball. But he has given up game-winning home runs to two of the last three batters he has faced -- after giving up only five homers in 70 appearances during the regular season. Let's put an even finer point on that stat: since June 1, Lidge had given up only two home runs in his last 47 regular-season appearances. And now in the past week, he's two-for-two. After Lidge gave up the home run to Albert Pujols, Jayson Stark of ESPN wrote : "This year, in the regular season, [Lidge] blew just four saves. In his next save opportunity after those four, his numbers looked like this: 4 IP, 1 hit, 0 runs, 7 whiffs." Well, Lidge's line after his NLCS blown save now reads: 1/3 IP, 1 hit, 1 run. So the big question has become: Does

You saw this one driving up the block, didn't you? Astros lead in the bottom of the 7th, 4-2. Dan Wheeler lets two Sox on base, and with two out, on what should have been a foul ball, the ump ruled that Wheeler had hit Jermaine Dye with a pitch (it actually hit his bat). The Sox cleanup hitter, Paul Konerko, is next to bat. If you're an Astros fan, you already knew how this would end. The new pitcher, Chad Qualls, must not give Konerko anything to hit . First pitch: Boom. I wish I could say I'm disappointed, but the truth is, in a situation like this, you come to expect things like this when you're an Astros fan ...

Just finished playing in the PokerStars Blogger Championship. 1473 of us started the tournament. With 191 of us left, I was doing fairly well, on the button with KK. Doofus across the table, who has been trying to put the entire table on tilt for an hour, calls me all in with QQ. Only two cards in the deck can save him. Figures, a queen hits the flop. Bye-bye, Gary. I don't mind losing poker hands -- it's part of the game. But somehow, it's particularly galling to get outdrawn by the most obnoxious (and arguably worst) player at the table. And it seems that "obnoxious" and "worst" go hand-in-hand oh, so often. It also chaps me when I'm raised all-in by a player who has a worse hand than I do, and he's the one who catches to beat me. It seems only fair that, if he's the one who's going to raise me all-in, that I should be the one to suck out on him . That would be fair. (And if pigs could fly ... well, I sure wouldn't want to be stan

Did they have to go and do it? Last night, the Houston Astros won their first National League pennant in 44 years of existence. Astros skipper Phil Garner looked right into the TV cameras and beamed, "Houston, we have a Series!" This morning, the Houston Chronicle 's banner headline read, "HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PENNANT". Oh, sweet fancy Moses. I'm particularly disappointed in the Chronicle . Think of all the potential headlines that would have made for fantastic round-the-globe repetition: "AT LAST!" "ASTROS FINALLY REACH ORBIT" "GET DRUNK AND SCREW" Instead, we get a re-hash of a 35-year-old panicked understatement from Apollo astronaut Jack Swigert. You may remember it from the movie Apollo 13 , when they gave the line to Tom Hanks because, hey, he's a bigger star than Kevin Bacon: "Houston, we have a problem." Boy, if I had a dime for every time I had heard that line, or a variation thereof, in one medium or an

"Who am I? Why am I here?" - James Stockdale Or, more specifically, "Where the hell have I been?" Glad you asked. I just returned from two weeks of work in Los Angeles. Because I'm self-employed and have to shell out my own overhead (what the rest of the world calls "travel expenses"), I load my days up with so much work that there's very little time for more mundane, but much more fun, tasks. Like blogging. Or breathing. I do take quick time-outs to enjoy the simple things, though. Sunday night was my last evening in L.A. I stood on the balcony of my hotel and watched the beams of the full moon, rising in the east, wash the city with its gentle light, leaving a delicate glow in its wake. Until, that is, I realized that my balcony didn't face east -- it faced west , towards Santa Monica. Then I noticed the complete cloud cover and absence of anything resembling a moon, and I realized that the "delicate glow" was emanating from the ra

Today was a good day to be a Houston sports fan. The Astros smoked, embarrassed, and totally destroyed the Atlanta Braves to win the NL Division Series. (Okay, so 7-6 hardly counts as a shellacking, and having taken 18 innings to finish the game, the Braves may not be the only team destroyed. Good thing the Astros don't have to play again until Wednesday -- Lance Berkman may be sound asleep until then.) Now comes the piece of resistance: getting even with those girly-men from St. Louis who have the bird on their uniform blouse. Last year, the Astros were within one game of going to their first-ever World Series. It would have been the first time in their 42 seasons. Roger Clemens was starting that Game 7. He had been brought out of retirement by the 'Stros for precisely this reason: to pitch the home team into the Big Dance. And ... he blew it. This year, the Astros are only four wins away from going to their first-ever World Series. If they make it, it will be their firs

I've been working in Los Angeles for the past five days. I'm out here for two weeks. During this trip, I was supposed to meet up separately with no fewer than three people, for dinner, drinks or coffee (respectively). Yet once I got here, not one of those three people have responded to my phone messages or e-mails. And of those three people, two of them were established friendships (or so I had thought), and one was a person whose mutual acquaintance we were looking forward to making (or so I had thought). But all three of them have blown me off. I know the problem can't be my breath, since none of these people have been around me recently to be olfactorily offended. I doubt it's my personal hygiene, since I do bathe with reasonable frequency. And unless they heard about my highly-contagious tuberculosis (which I've done my best to keep secret), concern for their health around me shouldn't be a factor. (Okay, I was kidding about the TB. My lungs are actu

I have registered to play in the Online Poker Blogger Championship ! This event is powered by PokerStars . Registration code: 8488912 Whee.

Blame the "liberal media" for once again grabbing hold of a conservative's stupid statement and disseminating it to We The People, thereby bringing embarrassment raining down upon him. No matter how richly that embarrassment is deserved, those damn Libs should just keep those little indiscretions hidden under the rug, where they belong. (Just like the Republicans did when Bill Clinton got caught with his fly unzipped. But I digress.) Reagan's secretary of education Bill Bennett has a radio show. (I know, I was surprised as well.) And Bill The Boob made a rather ill-advised comment on his September 28th broadcast: I do know that it's true that if you wanted to reduce crime, you could -- if that were your sole purpose, you could abort every black baby in this country, and your crime rate would go down. That would be an impossible, ridiculous, and morally reprehensible thing to do, but your crime rate would go down. Now, to put his comment in context: His caller had

I generally try to leave politics out of this blog. There are approximately three million blogs on the Web that deal with politics on a daily basis, and this isn't one of them. But today, I must allow myself to gloat just a bit. An Austin grand jury has indicted Tom DeLay on a charge of criminal conspiracy. The (former) House Majority Leader (House rules require him to give up the leadership role while the indictment is pending) faces two years in prison for conspiracy to launder corporate political contributions. Unlike most liberals, I'm not happy about DeLay's indictment because he's the ranking Republican in the House. I'm happy about it because Tom DeLay is a royal asshole-prick-moron-jerk who deserves all the bad karma life can throw at him. Here is a partial list of Tommy Boy's stunts that I can name off the top of my head: o When Houston's Metropolitan Transit Authority was seeking federal funds to build the initial phase of its new light-rail syste

Sweat dripping from brow Raking leaves into a bag Branches puncture bag. Hefty makes weak bags But it's all I have right now. Raking never stops. Limbs and leaves all o'er Got to clean this big mess up 'Fore the lawn guys come. Knowing them, they won't Clean up the mess from Rita Without charging more. As big "blow jobs" go, Rita was, shall I just say, Unsatisfying. But mostly, I'm glad That nobody local died. Especially us. And glad we didn't Have to depend upon that Crappy gen'rator ...

It's hot here. VERY hot. You'd think the hurricane would have cooled things off a bit, but no. Yesterday it got up to 101 degrees. With the 51 percent humidity (yep, Houston's mugginess factor is on the rise again), that meant it felt like 121. When it's too hot to go swimming, you KNOW it's too freaking hot. (Did anybody remember to remind God it's September?) So now, we're getting heat advisories from the National Weather Service. Personally, I've heard quite enough from the NWS during the past week. Wonder if I could persuade them to take a couple of weeks' vacation, and to turn the air conditioning up before they go? Not to fear. In a week I'll be arriving in Los Angeles, where it's currently a nice, comfortable 74 degrees. Since for the last week I've been "Hurricane Boy", I'm half-expecting an earthquake to hit while I'm there. That would dovetail nicely with the way this month has been for me so far. (You think Mr

God, what a mess. Leaves all over the front yard, and covering the bottom of the pool. Our neighbors across the street have several tree limbs down in their front yard. (Silly us -- we foolishly paid a guy to thin out our tree a couple of weeks ago. The guy across the street gets Rita to do it for free.) But, as far as the eye can see, absolutely no damage at all. Not to our house, or to any of our neighbors'. We lost power here for a grand total of five seconds. Since I have a UPS on my computer, I didn't even have time to shut down before the power came back on. It was off just long enough to force us to reset every digital clock in the house. We have enough electronics here that at night, when all the lights are off, there is faint glowing coming from multiple points -- almost enough to navigate by once your eyes have adjusted to the darkness. Well, last night, all those glowing points were flashing. Last night, I was too damn tired to care. We've had the adrena

Houston didn't dodge a bullet. We dodged a cannonball . It's nearly 12:30 in the morning, and we never even felt particularly strong winds here. The rain is yet to come -- the eye of the hurricane hasn't yet come parallel to the city of Houston -- but the damaging storm surge and furious winds aren't likely to have an impact on us here. What a letdown. Don't get me wrong; I wasn't looking forward to broken windows and missing shingles and tattered gutters. Nor was I looking forward to comforting my wife through a night of howling winds and crashing thunder. But after days of preparing for the worst, and anticipating the worst, to find out that ... NOTHING HAPPENED ... is an incredibly anticlimactic way to end this vigil. But make no mistake. We're going to hear a lot more about the effects of Hurricane Rita, because it is now predicted to make landfall (in about two hours) just east of Cameron, Louisiana. Cameron is not heavily populated by people. It